Era Of Freedom
by thisaccountdoesntwork1
Summary: I am Sophia Soothsayer. I am fifteen. I lived a simple life in the serene, oppressed farms of District Ten. All this changed when I was reaped for the 67th Hunger Games and put in the Arena of Death. The Games shaped me into someone I hated and loathed. This is my story.
1. Chapter 1

Era of Freedom

A/N: Hey, so I'm new here and I want to further develop my writing skills. I'd love it if you would R&R! And thank you for reading this story! :D Oh and I don't own THG. Yeah, not even a tiny bit of Peeta's burnt bread.

Summary: I am Sophia Soothsayer. I am fifteen. I lived a simple life in the serene, oppressed farms of District Ten. All this changed when I was reaped for the 67th Hunger Games and put in the Arena of Death. The Games shaped me into someone I hated and loathed. This is my story.

Chapter One: The Reaping

I wake up to find the house silent. It's incredibly unnerving; normally my brother would be awake, running up and down the stairs to cater to my father's needs. I'd hear the creaking of the door, signifying the start of my mother's daily activities usually concerning knitting or cleaning or cooking. My father, of course, wouldn't be found in the house. He would be out in the fields, tending to the animals such as the sheep and cattle.

But right now I hear nothing. Not even the slightest creak of a door or floor board. Not even the scream of a kettle. The house is absolutely quiet.

Then it hits me. Today is the day. A day that fills millions of children's stomachs with dread. Today is Reaping Day.

I get out of bed groggily, as I had trouble sleeping last night, to find my Reaping clothes already set out on my flimsy drawer. It's a dark green dress made out of a very expensive fabric. I wonder how much this would have cost. I remember when I was younger, I asked my parents why we had to dress so nicely. They said it is so that one would look proper in front of the cameras and when one would have to be escorted to the Capitol. It reminds me of a funeral—when you doll up the dead. Honestly, I think it's an awful lot to spend on someone who is just going to die.

Someone knocks on my door, opening it slightly.

"You should get ready, Reaping is going to start in two hours," my mother says, obviously trying to be strong.

I nod in reply. Words fail me; I will be facing yet another year with terror sinking in. I recall back when I was twelve—the first year both my brother and I were eligible for Reaping. There was a daunting possibility that both of us could be sent to the Games at the same year. And for the next three years, the possibility remains. But next year it will be different. If Eli is lucky this time, like he is every year, he will never know fear again. But for me, with the accumulative slips in the bowl because of my age, the horror is still to come.

I go downstairs and fill up the near by bucket with cold water from the sink. I've heard that in the Capitol, they have these fancy contraptions called bathtubs and showers. Here in District 10, we simply strip and use a small cup to get water from a pail and pour it all over ourselves. Take note that I say _simply. _Perhaps the word "simple" is the very definition of life in my district. Us children go to school and then spend the rest of the day in the farms, tending to whatever livestock the family possesses.

My family isn't exactly rich, but we're fortunate enough to own our own farm and livestock. Eli and I work for our father. We hire nobody else. I feel lucky because some of my classmates who aren't as fortuitous as I am have to work on other people's farms. They are beaten and yelled at by their employers. I hear that some of them are even cheated out of their pay. I'm my father would never do that even if he hired someone. He is a kind man, his hazel eyes never fail to put people at ease.

But even with this small fortune, I can't help but feel resentful towards the Capitol—they go on and on about how we owe them, how we couldn't live or function without them. I used to scoff publicly at the idea. Who provides them with meat? We do, District Ten! How about their ridiculous, clown-like clothing? District 8! How about their power and energy? District 5! It all boils down to us, the different districts of Panem. My parents and Eli did their best to hush me while I ranted. Later on, I learned that I should keep quiet and swallow the bitter pill that is reality.

I glance at the clock—11 AM. Reaping starts at twelve. I dry myself with a thin towel near by and put on my dress. I look at myself in the mirror. I don't normally pay attention to my looks but every Reaping, I try to really look at myself, because I'm scared that one day, the last time anyone will see my face is when it flashes in the arena, on television and then my face will disappear off of this world forever.

My hazel eyes widen, taking in my appearance. In District 10, most of us look alike. Skin tone ranges from a tan to a satiny brown complexion. Most of us have freckles on our faces because of the hours spent working under the sun. Eye color varies from hazel to coal black. Of course, there are exceptions. Rare exceptions. Although most of us here work on the farm, there are a few lucky families who have the luxury of owning businesses that don't involve sunlight beating down on their backs. The "townies." They own sweetshops, shoe stores, retails. Things we can never afford anyway. They have a relatively pale complexion and their hair is a shade of copper. They always carry umbrellas around. Very expensive items, umbrellas are. In fact, my family only owns one. Nowhere near enough to shade a family of four. It doesn't matter though—it would just get in the way when we work.

I stare at my reflection longer. My complexion—the color of freshly baked bread—is now pale with terror. I fiddle with my shoulder-length, straight black hair, and then I brush it with my horsehair brush, a prized possession of mine. I adjust the black belt on my tiny waist. Living in District Ten gave me a slender but strong body from working with animals all day. We were nowhere as well fed as the Careers but we weren't as emaciated as Districts Eleven and Twelve. At least, most of us weren't.

Once I look fairly presentable, I walk out of the bathroom and go to the dining room. I wedge myself in between mother and Eli. Everyone looks nervous. I look down to my plate. Two eggs and roast beef; it is a really expensive delicacy here and I only get it on special occasions such as Reaping Day. Normally, if I saw such a grand meal in front of me, I would shove the whole plate in my mouth, then lick it clean (to my mother's dismay, of course). Now I just play with it. I'm actually disgusted with myself, wasting good food like that. Although we have our own livestock, it doesn't mean we get full tummies by the end of the day. All our produce goes to the Capitol, where it is divided. No, we only get leftovers. Some nights, we have nothing to eat. I get frustrated with myself because I didn't have the courage to sign up for tesserae. I'd tell myself to not care if my chances of getting into the arena will become higher but I chicken out. That's why I'd always discourage Eli from taking tesserae. If he takes tesserae, the number of his slips get higher. I won't let him risk that. And I wont be able to live with myself if he gets reaped and it's all because of my cowardice and selfishness.

When we finish our meal, we head out of the house and walk towards the Town Plaza. It's a beautiful place surrounded by many flowers and plenty of shade, which is good since Reaping starts at noon and that's usually the hottest time of the day. It's so grand and luxurious only to be marred by the ugliness and horror we had to witness on the television screens installed there.

I line up with the fifteen year olds. It always amazes me how all of the twelve through eighteen year olds can fit here. But then again, it is an awfully big place.

Someone taps my shoulder and I turn around to see who it is. Of course, it's nobody else but my best friend Rina York, with her toothy grin and mischievous features.

"Good luck," she says quietly.

"You too," I say.

I pray that Rina won't get reaped. She has a much higher chance than I do. She and her older brother have to sign up for tesserae for their four younger siblings every year. Well, Rina's older brother did. But that was before he was reaped, three years ago. He died in twelfth place, making it past the bloodbath at least. But he died because he was poisoned by his so-called "ally." I'm just glad that that his murderer died a slow and painful death.

This year, little Connie is eligible for Reaping and I can tell it's tearing her apart. My eyes flit to the twelve year olds section, towards Connie. Sweet and so innocent. She is too short and skinny to compete in the Hunger Games! I picture Rina's heartbroken face if ever she were to return home in a wooden box…

_You have to snap out of it,_ my mind says. So I look for things to look at. But _of course _my eyes suddenly shift to a boy in the front. He is three boys behind Eli. Ah, Klein Izaacs, with his soft chocolate brown eyes, tall stature and chiseled physique. I begin to think my eyes have over stayed their welcome when he suddenly looks my way, so I feign interest in the brick road below me. I figure he'd be used to staring. My girls ogle at him, too. Because he's so perfect… I silently curse myself. I remind myself that these emotions are only distractions. I can't allow myself to feel like that, ever and about anyone. It won't put food on the table nor will it help me if I get reaped. It's better to compartmentalize emotions. Separate them so I won't be confused, so I can focus and get the job done.

The mayor steps down from his podium. As it turns out, I totally zoned out. As usual.

Zinniah Lander literally bounces on stage, with her bright pink dress full of frills and sparkles and gives her signature, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" She gives us a wide, white scary smile.

Yeah, right. The odds are never in our favor.

"Ladies first!" she shrieks.

Her hand reaches deep into the glass bowl that holds the slips of girls aged twelve through eighteen in District Ten. Many slips, I tell myself. Thousands and thousands of slips and I only have four. I say a silent prayer for Rina—for her and her numerous slips.

I look at Zinniah's lips as she says the name of the girl tribute. All my audio senses have tuned out all of a sudden. I can't hear anything.

People start nudging me—the whole crowd goes silent until I hear a piercing scream. A horrible, blood-curling one.

"NO! NO! NO! NO! SOPHIA!" the voice screams as if it was being tortured to death.

I know that voice; it's my mother's. But why would she scream? I'm in a daze, not comprehending what is happening.

"Sophia Soothsayer!" Zinniah calls out impatiently, implying that she has said that name more than once.

I gasp and get sent back into reality. I guess I no longer have to worry about Rina's name getting called out because the name that gets reaped is mine.

A/N: Thanks for reading! I'll update maybe sometime next week. Review!


	2. Chapter 2

Era Of Freedom

**A/N: Hey, I'm back! Thanks for the awesome reviews, favorites and alerts; they motivated and inspired me to write a (hopefully) better chapter. Just so you know, I've written many chapters in this story in advance, it was just sitting in a notebook for months, waiting to be edited. Along the typing process, I just added whatever I felt like adding and hopefully this worked to everyone's liking. Please read and review! Without further ado, I present Chapter Two! **

Disclaimer: I do not own THG… sadly.

Chapter Two: The Visitors

I walk up the stage slowly, my legs shaking. Once I'm there, Zinniah calls out for volunteers. As expected, nobody does. Volunteering for the Games is an uncommon occurrence here in District Ten. Almost every tribute dies in the bloodbath.

I see Rina among the sea of black and copper hair. Her head is bowed down, eyes to the ground. I couldn't blame her for not volunteering. Friendships even as strong as ours fly out of the window on Reaping Day. No, I must not think like that; of course, Rina wouldn't volunteer—she has her family to think of, and not to mention her brother died in a recent Hunger Games.

I spot Eli easily; he is in front, with the other eighteen year olds. Tears are running freely down his face. His eyes are full of worry and concern. I just hope he doesn't get reaped, too. I hope he doesn't join me in my death sentence. I try looking for my parents but I can't seem to find them; perhaps they were taken by Peacekeepers. I hope this is not the case, as Peacekeepers here are harsh and are in no way capable of feeling any type of empathy. Maybe my father just took mother to the outskirts of the Town Plaza to calm her down. Yes, that must be it.

I try to contain all my emotions. Inside I am terrified, angry, sickened, sad and worried all at the same time. All these feelings are on the brink of showing on my face. I cannot let that happen. Years spent compartmentalizing emotions finally pay off. You see, we live in a society wherein what you think does not matter. I mean sure, I could have just spent my time complaining about work, how the sun burns my back or how hungry I am all the time but instead I force all of my inhibitions out of the way, focus and just do it. I have no other option.

I've learned that it's better not to show what you truly feel to anyone else—it's best to keep it to yourself. They'll use it against you, perceive you to be someone you don't want to portray. I can now hide whatever weakness I have that may work towards my disadvantage; this little skill will give me an upper hand in the Games. It is bad to be so transparent all the time; so I learned how to deceive others on how I truly feel, who I really am, even to the point of deceiving myself.

I force my face into an indifferent mask. These emotions should not get the best of me. I repeat, it doesn't matter what I feel anyway; even if I wail and cry on stage, it doesn't mean the Games will be cancelled. The outcome of the situation will not change. No, I want to appear bursting with confidence, as if this were all a plan and attract sponsors. But really inside, I know that even if I have millions of sponsors, I'll never make it home.

So I rid each emotion, detaching them, separating them from me. First my fear, then anger and so on and so forth. I know I am doing a good job because tears aren't stinging my eyes. _I can't let the other tributes take advantage of my weaknesses, _I think to myself. _I will never give them the opportunity. So why not let them think I have none? _Fire starts surging through my veins and adrenaline is coursing through my body. A smile reaches my lips and I know I've accomplished my task of putting on a mask of confidence.

"Nolan Grisham!" Zinniah cries out.

Nolan Grisham. His name rings a bell. A boy around seventeen, with a mop of dark hair takes his place on the opposite side of the stage. But all I see is another person I have to kill.

"DISTRICT TEN, I GIVE YOU YOUR TRIBUTES FOR THE 67th ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES! SOPHIA SOOTHSAYER AND NOLAN GRISHAM!" our escort cheers. Nolan and I shake hands, his grip a bit to tight for my liking.

The crowd claps politely, murmurs in the air. Everyone is murmuring our names.

"_Sophia Soothsayer…Nolan Grisham…tributes…The Hunger Games…" _

I do my best to ignore them as I am escorted to the Justice Building. The room I am brought to is simple but elegant with its carpeted floors and fancy wallpaper. It's also empty except for the worn-out leather couch I am sitting on and two wooden chairs. I'm on the verge of tears, the mask on my face threatening to come off any second now—whatever confidence I managed to acquire onstage has now dissolved into a pool of bitterness and grief. There is a painful knot in my stomach. I shake my ankle to take my mind off of the events that lay before me—a trip to the Capitol, the arena, my inevitable death. I wince at the thought of the last one.

I hear a creaking sound and for a short moment, my vision was totally obscured by bushy dark hair. I was hugged—or tackled—by my mother, whose beautiful face is now fresh with tears. I pat her on the back and kiss her cheek.

_I have to show them I can do this, _I think to myself. _Even if I probably can't. _

Eli looks as grief-stricken as he did in the Plaza. He just holds me and doesn't say anything. He doesn't tell me things like, _It's going to be alright or Just calm down, everything is okay. _My brother, after all, isn't the type to lie.

My father sits on one of the wooden chairs. His eyes are hollow. Once filled with joy and kindness, they are completely empty and unfamiliar. I hate this look of despair on him, my mother and Eli. I have to be strong. For them. Now, I force myself to swallow my pool of bitterness and grief by trying my hardest to keep my mask on. I awkwardly pat all of them on the back and give hugs. It baffles me how strange the situation is. I'm the one being sentenced to my own cruel death yet I'm the one comforting them. But this doesn't bother me in the slightest. I just want to end their pain and not make them hurt anymore.

A peacekeeper comes and tells them their time is up. Mother screams and holds on to me. Eli tugs on her and we break apart. My father stands up from his chair and kisses my forehead, saying, "We love you. Come back." I simply nod in reply. Maybe I actually convinced them I have a chance of making back. As they walk towards the exit, they all spare me one last fleeting glance—probably the last time they'll ever see me—and leave.

I am lonely once more. Thankfully, I need not wait longer for my next visitor: Rina York. She cries on my shoulder, telling me over and over about how she should have volunteered.

This is why I love Rina so much. And this is why I only expected her and nobody else to come. Sure I have other friends—friends that I do shallow things with and have a good laugh once in a while. But Rina and I connect on a much deeper level. I even confide in her what I truly feel because she is one of the few who listen and genuinely understand. I never feel guarded around her. She's so selfless, so brave. Truthfully, I was beginning to doubt she would come see me; she's been in this room before, three years ago to bid farewell and wish good luck to a brother who would never come home. But she was courageous enough to come for me, and I love her for it.

"No, you shouldn't have volunteered," I tell her. This is all true. "Your family needs you more than my family needs me, okay? Snap out of it! Rina, you know that I wouldn't forgive you for wasting your life over something that can't be helped. You have a family that depends on you." I make sure not to mention her brother.

She sniffs and hugs me tightly once more. I know she'll bode well; she's a strong one. But even with her strong personality, I think it isn't safe to take of my mask of reassurance just yet. A peacekeeper comes to tell us her time is up. We both stand, and she looks me in the eye and says firmly, "Sophia, you have to win this. I already lost Jett, I can't lose you. Promise?" She makes it seem more of a demand than a request.

I choose not to reply because I don't want to promise her something I cannot keep—especially since there is no way I could win. The odds are stacked up against me like a skyscraper. Rina hugs me and says, "Come home," then leaves.

I sit on the leather sofa, expecting no more visitors. My family and my best friend were enough for me. I don't think I can handle anymore heart-wrenching good-byes.

So imagine my surprise when I see Klein—yes, _Klein_—come into my room.

At first I thought maybe he stumbled in by mistake; perhaps he meant to go to Nolan's room and accidentally walked into mine. I don't know how but I feel even more shocked than when I was reaped. I can feel my face redden and I become angry with myself for blushing. _How embarrassing. _

He pauses, looking rather conflicted.

"So…how are you doing?" he asks rather lamely. Wow, not much of a conversation starter, is he? What did I see in him anyway?

I laugh darkly. I could sense he was tense. He seemed fidgety and nervous. What happened to him?

"Well, good luck then," he says sincerely.

"I don't need it, I'm not coming home," I say bitterly.

I am tired of having to reassure others that _yeah, sure, of course I'm coming home! _It makes me weary to have to swallow other people's tears. Unlike my parents and Rina, I realize now that Klein means nothing to me. He's just a boy in District Ten. We have never spoken before this incident. He looks at me as if he is yet another person I need to comfort, but I'm tired of it. Sure, _maybe _I've shown signs of fondness of him but it doesn't matter now and it never did.

But I can tell he is agitated by my response. He stands up and kicks the wooden chair he was sitting on. It clatters to the ground, breaking into two.

"Dammit, Sophia! Don't you get it? This isn't just a matter of coming home! PEOPLE DIE IN THIS COMPETITION! And here you are, acting like you don't give a damn about your life!"

My eyes widen in shock. Next, tears come, flowing down my cheeks. I try to hold them in but it's no use. It's because he's right; I can't just throw it all away. I need to put on the mask of confidence back again and not just put it on but ingrain it in my heart, mind and soul. I need to win.

"That's what I'm talking about," he says softly, wiping the tears off my cheeks with his thumb. "Tears show passion. It means you're willing to fight for your life. It means you haven't accepted your death just yet. I certainly haven't."

I don't know what broke me. How did he do that? How did my steadfast belief that I am going to die change so quickly? Perhaps his words remind me of seeing the sullen, pained faces of my family or of Rina expecting me to keep her promise. Or maybe it was seeing the consequences of losing for the first time; that the Capitol can ever so easily discard my life now that I'm a piece in their games, a pawn on their black and white chessboard waiting to be sacrificed.

Klein's voice breaks my train of thought.

"You're allowed one token from your district," he says.

He takes out a small, round mirror that has a silver chain attached to it. It is beautiful, with its intricate wooden design. And it's heavy too. The mirror must have been old or must have belonged to his grandmother. A family heirloom, so to speak—and he's giving it to me. My heart swells with pride.

"Don't forget who you are—that you're Sophia Soothsayer, not just some District Ten tribute. Don't let them take that away from you and replace it with something else," he tells me.

"Thank you. The token is very beautiful," I say. "And also, Klein, thank you for giving me the courage to win this."

He gives me an encouraging smile and hugs me. My heart leaps and I thank my lucky stars (if there are such things) that I didn't faint at the sight of him.

"Miss Soothsayer, you are to report to the train station immediately," a peacekeeper says. He shows me to a sleek black car that brings me to the trains. I have always wanted to ride in a car because they seem like very luxurious items especially in a large district where pretty much everyone walks. And now I get to ride in one; dream come true right? If only I rode one in better circumstances.

My mask of confidence is back up again and this time it is present both in me and out of me. Nolan seems tense but he puts up with the cameras well. The paparazzi devour us like the flies in my backyard slaughterhouse. Thankfully, we only had to stand there awkwardly for a few minutes because the train doors open, and Nolan and I are being ushered inside.

There's no turning back—I am being whisked away to the Capitol.

**A/N: A special shout out to nb1998! Thank you for your unwavering support! :D I will update sometime next week because school is starting in my country and I want to focus on my studies too so bear with me. I hope you guys understand! Oh, yeah—PLEASE REVIEW! **


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